


Jade Vert & the Twelve Trolls

by astraLazuli



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Alternate Universe - Mirror Mirror, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-23
Updated: 2015-12-01
Packaged: 2018-05-03 01:33:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5271569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/astraLazuli/pseuds/astraLazuli
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Jade Vert, the heiress to the illustrious Crocker Corporation, has some family difficulties involving her step-grandmother, makes some unlikely friends, and ultimately finds love.</p><p>Mirror Mirror/Snow White AU</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This guy is unbetaed & unfinished & is subject to changes & editing along the way. Just sorta throwing this out there to see if anyone is interested, so if you'd like to see more, please leave a comment so I can know to continue (or also if you've got any suggestions, such as what to call the dang ancestors in this because I really just can't figure it out).

Once upon a time, in a land a fair bit away, but perhaps not far, there lived a man. The man was a self-proclaimed billionaire playboy philanthropist, who spent his time traveling the world in search of new adventures. One day, on his travels, he met a woman, a baker, with dark hair and bright blue eyes and he instantly fell in love with her. They were married, and together, they built a baking empire the likes of which had never been seen before.

However, as they grew older, they found that there was a niggling hole in their lives together and for some reason they decided that the perfect solution to this would be to adopt a child. They took in a baby girl who had hair as dark as ebony and eyes as green as jade. Naturally, they named her Jade Vert because that’s not a ridiculous and pretentious name or anything. Shortly after adopting Jade, the woman fell terribly ill and tragically died. This left the man alone to raise Jade.

They lived together in a mansion on a hill just outside the town where the baking empire’s main factory was. The man would often take Jade down into the town and all of the people there would always be singing and dancing. Because apparently even though it was a town built on industry, they didn’t ever have anything better to be doing than singing and dancing.

The two of them were very happy. The man loved Jade something fierce and would spoil her completely. However, there was a loneliness in his heart and he longed for companionship. He met a beautiful young woman, the most beautiful woman in all the world, who was nothing but grace and light and he fell in love with her immediately. (This is where the story gets to be interesting because you are the beautiful woman and obviously this story is about you.) He married the beautiful woman at once and everyone was happy.

However, a terrible beast began to ravage the land around the town. Townsfolk were turning up dead and injured left and right. Finally, the king decided that something had to be done about this. He kissed his wife and daughter goodbye and took off into the woods with his trusty hunting rifle. He was never heard from again. Jade searched the forest day and night looking for her grandfather and when she discovered his rifle with him nowhere in sight, she realized that he was never coming back.

The beautiful woman (you) took over the baking empire her dead husband had built with his dead first wife and as well as the care of the young Jade Vert.

Years passed and Jade grew and blossomed into a lovely young lady while the town fell into an icy despair. And the woman realized that, if she wanted to remain the most beautiful woman in the land, something would have to be done about Jade.

 

 


	2. Chapter One

Your name is Jade Vert and you are the sole heir to the great Crocker baking empire. The company was named for your late grandmother who is said to have been the greatest baker the world had ever seen. You wouldn’t know; she died when you were much too young to have remembered her. But your grandpa told you all the time about her delicious cakes and how there was something special about when she made them that the ones made in the factory in town could never seem to replicate. Your grandpa’s been gone for quite a while as well. In fact it’s been nearly ten years since Grandpa left to fight the beast that lived in the forest near town and was never heard from again. But you try not to think about that. Especially not today of all days.

Today is your eighteenth birthday. Normally, this would be cause for great celebration, the day you properly become an adult and are able to take over the company, but somehow you doubt that anyone will remember it. These days you spend most of your time cooped up in the upper floor of the house you grew up in with only the household staff for company. Not to belittle what company they were. Most of them were like family to you, in particular one snarky kitchen maid who was practically your sister. But still, it can get to be lonely when you’ve spent the last ten years with the same group of people, most of whom had other things to do during the day and families of their own to be with at night.

Like any other day, you are spending the day sitting up in your bedroom. You are curled up in the window seat, gazing down at the forest below, trying to decide what to do with yourself. Letting out a sigh, you pull yourself up, smoothing the wrinkles out of your pink and green floral dress.You make your way from your room, padding through the halls with practiced stealth. The Condesce (as you referred to her mentally, short for Her Insufferable Condescension) was rather particular about how much noise you made or how much you appeared to exist for that matter.

You walk down the stairs, coming up on one of the halls where the Condesce frequently entertains the wealthy elites from the surrounding area. It sounds like she is currently hosting some sort of game. You silently push the door open and step inside.

The Condesce is seated at the head of the room in a giant throne-like chair, her voluminous skirts taking up a good two foot radius of space around her. She is playing a sort of human sized chess cast with people wealthy enough to want to get a foot in the Condesce’s circle but not wealthy enough to actually do so. They are all dressed up in costume fitting the positions they represent: a crown here, a bishop’s hat there, and a swarm of pawns in ridiculous outfits.

“F to D9!” the Condesce calls out. A man in wearing an absurd knight’s helmet with a giant fluffy red feather takes three steps forward and one to the side.

You sneak along the side wall toward the back of the room. The Condesce is speaking with her game companion, a tall older man with violet streaked black hair. Snippets of their conversation reaches your ears as you inch closer.

“You know,” he says, “I feel it is my duty to inform you of the rumours I have been hearing.”

“Rumours?” the Condesce says, eyes still fixed on the game.

“Yes, rumours, muttering, hearsay,” the man continues. “There is talk among the board of directors that the company is in financial peril because of your spending habits. It is making them question your ability to lead this company.” He pauses, and when the Condesce remains silent, he continues. “I was thinking that we could create a far more stable image if you were to get married. Marry me and allow the Crocker corporation to be consolidated within my company and it would put the threats of board takeover the rest and strengthen our two companies.”

The Condesce scoffs. “That sounds to me like the board is a bunch of gossiping busybodies, and that you, Dualscar, are overstepping your place.” She waves a hand. “Psiionic!”

A tall, thin man dressed in yellow jumps to his feet and scrambles over. “Yes, my lady?”

“Loose lips sink ships,” she says.

“Yes, of course, my lady,” Psiionic babbles, “Which ship would you like to have sunk.”

“It’s a figure of speech,” says the Condesce, rolling her eyes, “I am making an official announcement. Take this down and make a memo. Any busybodies who are found gossiping, whispering, thinking that I am not in complete control of this company will find themselves ejected and at risk of severe bodily harm, accidentally of course. How does that sound?”

“It’s, uh, decisive,” he says, typing away frantically on a tablet.

“Excellent,” says the Condesce. Her fuschia eyes glance toward you.

You freeze. Oh no. Busted.

“Jade!” she calls out, gesturing you forward. “Come here.”

You apprehensively walk over, sitting at the foot of the chair.

She leans in towards you and says in a voice just over a whisper, “Is there a fire?”

“I’m sorry?” you ask confusedly.

“I asked you if there was a fire. Because I’m trying to come up with an explanation for you would be down here crashing my party and my first thought was that there must be fire up in your room.”

You fight to keep a grimace from your face. “No, there’s no fire. I was just wondering if I could maybe come to the gala. I mean, it is my eighteenth birthday, and I’d really like to attend.”

“Oh is it now?” The Condesce pauses for thought. “E to F-3!” she calls out before turning back to you, an inscrutable expression on her face. “Hm. Eighteen. Perhaps it is time that I ease up on you a little bit. After all, it’s not like you’ve done anything to me. And yet…” Her eyes narrow. “There is just something about you that I find so incredibly irritating. I’m not sure what it is. The posture, the hair, that god awful voice.” She reaches out and grabs a handful of your hair, pulling your head closer to her, a fierce cold smile on her face. “You know what? I think that’s it. I think it’s your hair. I hate your hair.” She drops your hair and the smile along with her voice. “I do not care if it’s your one hundredth birthday, do not ever sneak into a party like this ever again.” She looks back up. “B to F-6!”

One of the chess pieces takes three steps forward to stand directly next to one of her opponent’s pieces. There is a loud flash as the opponent’s piece’s hat is knocked from his head and tumbles to the ground.

“Dualscar, you have been beaten for the last five minutes and didn’t even realize it,” the Baroness smiles.

There is a smattering of polite applause. “Bravo, my lady,” Psiionic says.

She looks down at you. “It’s very important to know when you’ve been beaten, is it not?”

You nod slightly. She dismisses you with a half-hearted gesture and you scamper back out of the hall.

 

 


	3. Chapter Two

“I don’t know about this whole idea. In fact, I think that it’s a pretty terrible one.”

Your name is Dave Strider and your travel companion is a giant whimp.

“I seriously don’t like the look of this forest. It’s got a sorta creepy feel about it. Down right sinister,” he continues.

“C’mon John, they’re just trees. Trees are made of wood, no big deal,” you reply, continuing on along the overgrown path, pausing occasionally to push more brush out of your way.

“It’s not the trees I’m scared of, you giant douche,” John spits back. “There’s supposed to be some sort of giant man eating creature in here, and I’m not exactly keen on the idea of ending up its next dinner.”

“And I’m just hella keen on the fact that my bro in travels still believes in ridiculous urban legends. There’s nothing in here that’s gonna eat you.”

John pouts slightly. “Fine then. Mind telling me at what point we’re going to go back home? Because we’ve been on this road trip of self-discovery for the three months now and I’m starting to miss sleeping in the same bed more than two nights in a row. And for that matter, if we’re road tripping, then where the hell is the van? Why did we just totally ditch it on the side of the highway just so that we could go traipsing through the death woods?”

“We had to ditch the van. Obviously it wouldn’t be able to handle this tiny path,” you explain with exaggerated patience. “Besides, it’s not a proper road trip if you spend the whole time in the same cushy hotel room. We’re out for adventure, not a vacation.”

“Adventure,” John mutters, kicking at a branch on the ground. “Great.”

There is a distant rustling in the trees.

“What was that?” John asks, looking around in a manner you could bet was not supposed to look nearly as frantic as it does.

“C’mon, Egbert,” you say dismissively, “It was probably just the wind.”

“STOP RIGHT THERE YOU SAD PILES OF SHIT MASQUERADING AS HUMANS!”

The voice rings out with righteous fury as a swarm of figures drop from the trees and surround the two of you. They tower over you, closing in.

“‘Don't worry, John’ you said,” John says, stopping immediately and raising his hands. “‘It’s just the wind,’ you said.”

“Oh would you fucking shove it,” you respond, reaching for the katana you have strapped to your back. You brandish it about, forcing the attackers back. Taking your lead, John has equipped his trusty giant hammer that he keeps at his hip and gives it a few experimental swings toward the attackers. They pull out a variety of weapons from the folds of their dark clothes.

One of them pulls out a bow and nocks an arrow, saying in a deep, almost solemn voice, “Empty your pockets and give us all that you have.”

“What?!” you shout back.

Another one backflips towards you, a set of metal claws clanging against your sword. “He said!” they squeak between blows, “Empty! Your pockets! And give us eh-furry-thing! You’ve got!”

You finally manage to knock the small one back and immediately another one comes forward, this one spinning a set of juggling clubs in their hands. They lazily slouch toward you, their movements slow and careless. You smirk, swinging your blade toward them. Like lightning, they suddenly block your blow with one club and swing the other at your head which you just barely manage to dodge. The attacker stumbles, pulled forward by the momentum. You spin to check on John, who is currently just barely managing to hold off one who is trying mightily to beat him with trident. (A trident. Are you fucking kidding? But really, you go wandering about with a freaking katana on your back and last time you checked it was the twenty-first century, not feudal Japan. You aren’t really in any place to judge.)

A figure steps towards you, a fist raised in the air. They toss down the contents of their hand which is revealed to be eight blue eight-sided dice.

You raise an eyebrow mockingly. “Really? How high do you even have to be to bring dice to a sword figh- AAAAARARCHH!” The dice suddenly glow and streams of electricity zap out of them and hit you and John, knocking the two of you hard on your asses.

“And stay down,” the person says, leaning close to your face.

You summon up a bit more strength and kick the figure’s feet out from under them. They fall over and scramble back to their feet, leaving half of their legs behind.

“Hold the goddamn phone,” you say, narrowing your eyes, “You aren’t actually giants at all! None of you are!”

“YEAH WHAT THE FUCK OF IT?” the one with the incredibly angry voice shouts back.

You snort with laughter, “Well you can’t really expect me to fight you.”

“Awesome,” the one you knocked over says triumphantly, climbing back to their feet, “So you concede!”

“Of course he concedes!” the one with the trident says in a high, bubbly voice.

“Hey, I’m not conceding!” you say indignantly. “I’m just saying I’m not gonna fight a bunch of tiny trolls!”

“And w-why the fuck not?” one of them demands.

“Because you’re totally fucking small! I can’t rightly fight a bunch of people who’d barely make it up to my chest! You’re a bunch of runts!”

“Oh, runts? That’s what the town idiot used to call us,” one of them says coolly.

“Yeah, uh, it take you all day to, uh, come up with that?” another says haltingly.

“Whatever,” you say, “The point is that you are all very small and that’s really funny.”

“OH YEAH?” the loud one demands, “IS IT AS FUNNY AS BLADE SLICING THROUGH YOUR THROAT?” He lunges at you sickle first.

“Karkat, stop,” one says softly, “We’re just here to take their money, not their lives. And,” they bend down, scooping something off the ground, “I have his wallet.”

“Now wait a goddamn minute, you put that shit down,” you holler, “That’s not yours!”

“W-whatev-ver,” one says, reaching for the wallet in the other’s hand.

“No, not fucking whatever,” you say.

John groans on the ground next to you. “Dave, would you just give them whatever they want?”

“No! That’s my shit and someone needs to teach these damn children a lesson!” you bellow, scrambling to your feet.

The attackers all freeze mid pawing through your and John’s wallets and slowly turn to glare at you.

 

* * *

 

Your name is Dave Strider and a bunch of trolls stole your pants. They also took your shoes, your shirt, your shades, and the better part of your dignity before stringing you and John up from a tree by the ankles.

“No one ever hears about this, alright?” you say. When John doesn’t respond, you headbutt him in the chest. “Say it!”

“Ow! Fine! No one ever hears about this!”

 

 


End file.
